My mouth moves before my brain has caught up. “Your eighteenth birthday is shortly after Chloe’s, right?”

Why am I asking her this? It doesn’t matter.

“Yeah, but I don’t think I’ll do much this year.”

“You’re weeks away from turning eighteen. Of course, you should celebrate.”

Instead of replying, she starts sautéing the onions and the chicken. My eyes snag on her bare shoulders in her tank top and the curve of her creamy neck when she tucks her hair behind her ear. “You should host a party,” I say to distract myself from my hardening dick. This is bad, so fucking bad.

Those slender shoulders rise and fall noncommittally, and I find myself wondering if she’s a virgin. I squash those thoughts immediately and set the table while she continues cooking.

“Where do you keep the ginger and the cumin?”

“In the top cupboard to your left.”

She pushes up on her tiptoes, and my eyes land on her pert ass in those tight jeans before sliding down her long legs.

I quickly look back up when she turns and says, “Thanks.”

When the dinner is cooked, and we’re seated at the table, she steals my breath with a drawn-out moan as she tastes the food.

“This is… Wow, Grayson! I love it.”

“That good, huh?”

She moans again, and I try my fucking hardest to keep my thoughts out of the gutter. It has clearly been too long since I got laid, and I’m projecting it on my dead daughter’s best friend. That thought is the bucket of ice-cold water I need to clear my head.

“I don’t think I can top this,” she says, covering her mouth with her hand when she talks.

“Yeah?” I stand up and grab another beer from the fridge. After popping the lid, I take a swig while watching her. She has almost cleaned her plate. Nodding her head, she drags her thumb through the sauce before bringing it to her mouth. “It’s delicious.”

“Who taught you to cook?”

She shrugs, sucking the tip of her thumb clean. “I taught myself. There’s never anyone home, you know? Chloe always liked to bake, so I also learned some things from her.”

It makes sense. I’ve had to clean countless messes over the years after they decided to try a new recipe they found online. At least it filled the house with giggles and nice smells after my wife’s disappearance.

“Did you buy dessert?” she asks when I continue watching her. I don’t miss the hitch in her breath.

“There’s ice cream in the fridge.”

She makes no move to stand. Instead, she chews on her lip, seemingly in thought. “How about you, Grayson?”

The soft tone of her voice has me raising my brow.

She continues, “You asked me earlier what my dreams are. I know it’s too soon since… well, since Chloe’s disappearance, but you can’t stay locked away in your house forever. What’s your plan?”

Pushing off the fridge, I walk to the kitchen counter and stare at my reflection in the window while I take a swig of beer. The dark has long since settled, and the chill seeps in through the gaps in the window frame. It’s a cold evening outside. “The frosty nights make it harder. I can’t stop thinking, ‘What if her body is dumped somewhere? What if she’s cold?’”